Hurt, But Still Fighting and Laughing

Blogger is currently down and I don’t know if it is a sign to keep the weekend’s happenings to myself or not. I need to write it out for me, though. And while it is contrary to place something written for myself out in public, it is what I do. Sometimes in the hope that it helps or educates someone, but sometimes just because I am telling you that THIS happened and I feel like THIS about it. That’s it.

This weekend I went to A’s baby shower. Which was perfect. I try so hard to not be judgmental, but why is it easier to be happy for those who, without question, wanted their children? Whether it was easy or difficult to attain pregnancy, birth, the baby, knowing that this child is brought into the world with unwavering love and welcome makes it easier to support and be joyful for the parents. Call me a jerk. A judgmental jerk at that. Anyway, the shower was perfect. What was said was a little less than perfect.

I left the shower and began driving angrily and bawling. At which point, I called C and let him know that I was headed to the shopping district to do some damage. What was said? A very loving, well-intentioned person who is incapable of actually hurting feelings if she tries, reminded/asked me, while A was opening her gifts: Didn’t you have a miscarriage quite a while ago? Long pause on my part. Yes, I did. Second long pause. Three years ago. (Yes, I actually counted in my head and said “Three years ago” out loud.) Then I sat there in stunned disbelief and tried not to cry.

You see, I know she didn’t mean to cause me any pain or discomfort, much less flood me with something akin to despair, but. I can’t forget that I miscarried. Three years and four months ago. Most days, I don’t think about it. If I did, I would be reminded that it could have been the only pregnancy that I ever experience. It could be what destroyed my body’s ability to get pregnant. Or, I may just be reminded that I lost someone that was truly loved and wanted. I can’t forget, but I don’t always need to remember and I definitely don’t need to ever ever be reminded. Thank you.

The parting words were: Let me know if you decide to have kids. Even this was well meaning and very sweet in its own way. I understood the intention, unlike the earlier comment. But it left me wanting to screech: WE DECIDED that WE WANTED CHILDREN FOUR YEARS AGO! Look how that has turned out for us. Really look at us. We have three dogs, a family-sized SUV, three bedrooms, and medical bills you wouldn’t believe. Having kids is not a decision that we get to make – it is, but it isn’t. And referring to the “decision” kind of chips off pieces of my heart. Our “decision” now is whether or not to gamble a large sum of money on science, technology, and medicine, or whether or not other people or countries think we’ll make adequate parents.

What really makes my heart crumble in upon itself? The assumptions. Some must assume that we didn’t “intentionally” get pregnant three and a half years ago. That the pregnancy was an accident, a mistake, or a miscalculation on our part. That the miscarriage was some sort of good thing because we just weren’t ready. Which is obviously the case, looking from the outside in, that we still aren’t ready because there have been no further pregnancy announcements. We are, presumably, taking proper precautions, now, to prevent anything unwanted. Or, as I’ve had explained to me (by people who don’t know my reproductive history – and no, I don’t spell it out to everyone), we must be waiting to have kids until my career takes off. Teaching idiots at the college level three or four times a year is practically a joke and otherwise I’m a receptionist. Career? My favorite is the quiz: Oh, you’re married? How many years? Any children? Don’t worry, you have plenty of time. Uh, thanks?

All of this eventually adds up and leads to me screaming (at C, the love of my life) that we will never have enough money to gamble on advanced procedures, we will never have kids, which means that I will never be fat, so since I’m always going to be skinny, I’m going to go out and blow a huge wad of cash on whatever will make me look like a million bucks. Really, I said all that. Then, I couldn’t even buy much. Hair products and a green dress and a black dress. It didn’t really make me feel any better. I cried some more when I got home and had to let C know that no, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. So much for me thinking that I can’t be hurt.

Today was better with assorted friendlies and Jeep riding. Although I have to mention the eight-year-old G in the back. Who is expecting the addition of a little brother to his family in November. And yes, C did pointedly look over at me at the beginning of this conversation – probably to see if I was going to freak out after the day before, but the initial question was addressed to me.

G: A, don’t you want kids?
A: (Pause) Sure, we need some to feed to Boris when he gets hungry. (G is the little boy that Boris may have nipped on the hindquarters and now they are sworn enemies – one always provoking the other.)
G: You’d feed your KIDS to the dogs?!
A: Only if they’re REALLY hungry.
G: Don’t you want kids?
A: Ahh, we’re going to see how your dad and LL do with their baby first.
G: (Out of nowhere) Would you want a black baby?
A: Yes.
G: Really?!
A: Why not? I’d take one in any color, except blue or green.
G: So you would take a yellow (red, tan, white, brown, black, orange, purple) baby?
A: Sure, but the purple one would need more oxygen, obviously. I just won’t take a green one. It would probably be a nature fairy baby and they always come back to get their babies.

So, maybe it isn’t so weird that adults are making comments about the fact that we don’t have kids, if even an eight-year-old feels the need to inquire. May it also be noted that his twelve-year-old sister has asked as well, but more because she’s eager to babysit, I think. It’s been that kind of weekend. Is there anything y’all feel compelled to ask me regarding my empty womb? Sexual practices? Anything?

Infertility Books

Bleh. Really. They are either too technical or mushy or hopeful or depressing or story-telly. Or just gross. I've requested a handful from the library lately and bleh, for the most part.

A Little Pregnant by the people that can't even share a last name (yes, I'm being judgy and no, on a non-irritating day I wouldn't care, but today - get real). Okay, by Linda Carbone, and she is the one that mentioned the different last name from her husband and how it almost caused an issue at the clinic - I would not want to tempt those issues after what happened in the IVF clinic in Ohio snafu. Talk about a life changing decision to make. Anyway, A Little Pregnant sucks. Probably because I can't relate AT ALL. She (the Linda) doesn't really care one way or another if they have kids - she's doing this for him. And lots of other crap. I don't think I made it more than 40 pages in and that was an effort. Take a pass.

Maybe Baby by assorted talented writers was so depressing that I felt like gouging out my own uterus to prevent anything from accidentally implanting in there and growing into a baby. You know, on the off chance. The new name for this compilation is: Just Don't Have Kids; They are messy and expensive and totally not worth the emotional investment. I actually purchased that one because it was $3 at Hastings and now I want to toss it out the window on the highway, but I think that is still littering.

The Infertility Cure is a little dense, but so far, I like it. It reads in more of a manual or handbook way, so I am taking it a little at a time. The author seems normal and like she really really wants to help and she's already made a statement that I don't wholeheartedly believe, but I would like to. I will keep you updated as to how it continues to treat me. Or if it cures my infertility.

At this rate, I'm ready to pick up my very own copy of Infertility for Dummies (yes, it does exist and it is hopefully very comprehensive).

Quite awhile ago, A Few Good Eggs was on my shelf and yes, it also sucked big time. I'm not old and I don't have poor egg quality (that we know of) and I just can't muster up sympathy for the two gals that wrote the book. Not that it really matters as both obtained their happy endings. Just saying that the fact they waited so long to have kids and now have issues is not my problem. In fact, in most cases, it seems preventable. Again, I'm judging. Anyway, disliked this book so much that it was garage-saled and then charity-shopped.

Navigating the Land of IF by Mel is always a good, comprehensive read - no prior knowledge, no pity, just information from someone that knows. I recommend it.

I also really liked Brooke Shields' book, Down Came the Rain. The beginning is about the disbelief that sex just isn't going to work to build their family. Once built, postpartum depression takes over. I mentioned to a friend that I can see that happening to me - once (if) I ever get the family I want, I could recoil at the scenario not being exactly what I saw in my head. She jumped all over that statement and told me that I would never have postpartum depression and I shouldn't set myself up for something like that. I don't think she understood what I was saying - and that is that I want to be aware of what could happen in that case. So, I really enjoyed Brooke's book, because I saw it as real (or, as real as a movie star can be).

I'm done trashing books. At least for now. Check out my Shelfari account for more info about what I read, like, own, and dislike.